The Writer

Hello! My name is Laura, welcome to my blog! I write weird stories, collect dragon plushies and stay up too late with my nose in a book. I am a wife, mom and child saved by grace. My hope is that you find encouragement here or at least a smile or too.
God bless!

“Now go, write it before them in a table, and note it in a book that it may be for the time to come forever and ever.”
~Isaiah 30:8.

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We have come from God, and inevitably the myths woven by us, though they contain error, will also reflect a splintered fragment of the true light, the eternal truth that is with God. Indeed only by myth-making, only by becoming 'sub-creator' and inventing stories, can Man aspire to the state of perfection that he knew before the Fall. Our myths may be misguided, but they steer however shakily towards the true harbour, while materialistic 'progress' leads only to a yawning abyss and the Iron Crown of the power of evil.
~J.R.R. Tolkien

"The only just literary critic," he concluded, "is Christ, who admires more than does any man the gifts He Himself has bestowed."
~J.R.R. Tolkien

“Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisioned by the enemy, don't we consider it his duty to escape?. . .If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we're partisans of liberty, then it's our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!”
~J.R.R. Tolkien

"Writers who see by the light of their Christian faith will have, in these times, the sharpest eye for the grotesque, for the perverse, and for the unacceptable. To the hard of hearing you shout, and for the almost-blind you draw large and startling figures."
~Flannery O'Connor

You write to communicate to the hearts and minds of others what’s burning inside you. And we edit to let the fire show through the smoke.
~Arthur Polotnik

Words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them.
~Nathaniel Hawthorne

"There are forms of insanity that condemn people to hear voices against their will, but as writers we invite ourselves to hear voices without relinquishing our hold on reality or our right to control."
~Writing Fiction by Janet Burroway

Christians have sometimes been suspicious of stories, because they really can influence you. If you read the Twilight novels once a month for a year, I think you'd be a different human afterward—and not a sparkly one.
~Nate Wilson

Legion

I love writing familiar Bible stories from a person’s point of view you would not normally see. It gives the story a whole new flavor. This idea came to me several weeks ago. It took my a while to finish, but here it is.
Comments are welcomed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do it! Now! I gripped the end of the stall. My knuckles turning white, I began to shake. My head throbbed within my skull as the voices yelled inside. I clenched my teeth and dug my finger nails into the wood.

“What are you doing?” The owner of the stall had noticed me.

Now! Before he can stop you!

I glared at the man, my eyes seemed to burn. He froze, fear creasing his forehead.

“I’ll do what I want,” I gripped the stall and flung it at the man. He threw his hands up to protect his face. The stall and all its contents crashed into him and he fell with a cry.

“Help! Help! Mad man!”

Before I knew what was happening, a crowd had surrounded me, cutting off my escape. Several stern looking men stood watching me, chains held in their hands. Something registered in my memory. I knew those men, but I couldn’t remember why.

Fight! Kill them! The voices cried. My head throbbed with pain behind my eyes. I screamed, clutching at my head I feel to my knees.

Fight! Kill! Kill! I screamed again, spewing froth that now formed in my mouth on the ground around me.

Get up!

“Demon! Contain him!” I heard the words, but the speaker was hidden from me in the crowd. Rage boiled through my blood, filling me with inhuman power.

Yes! Now! Fight!

I rose to my feet, letting the anger roll from my gaze. The men with the chains advanced, but now they hesitated.

“Came if you dare!” I bellowed.

“What are you waiting for?!” Called the hidden speaker, “He has nowhere to go!”

Then men, faces now hardened, charged. Screaming, I rushed into their midst. Flailing my arms about me I clawed with my fingernails at anyone who came too close.

Blood. I felt it on my hands, warm and thick, running down my fingers. The voices laughed. I turned, a club met my gaze and I was plunged into tortured darkness.

* * *

I pulled, straining at the chains that bound me to the rock. All was quiet among the tombs and I was alone. I lifted my head and raised my voice to the sky, breaking the silence, I hated the silence. How dare they bind me! They would regret it!

These chains are nothing. The voices cooed mockingly. You are mightier then they.

Heat rushed through my body. Setting my feet firmly on the hard ground, I pulled at my bonds. I roared, straining with every bit of my strength, and more. With two load CLAPS! the chains broke free from my wrists. Now free, I ran, ran from the rock, from the chains, from the silence. The voices laughed. I began to scream.

* * *

Blood trickled down my arm. I stared at it. A sharp stone clutched tightly in my fist, I drug it down my arm once again. Another thin line of red traced a sticky path down my arm, but I couldn’t feel it. I did it again, and again, on my legs, my arms, my hands, anyway I could draw blood. Still, no feeling. I flung the stone away from me and yelled at the storm clouds swirling over the sea. A small fishing boat floated not far off shore, the rowers guiding it safely to the beach. One man, sitting in the stern caught my eye. Suddenly fear, like no other took hold of me.

Clutching at my rags I ran towards the beach. As the man stepped from the boat I met him, falling on my face before him.

“Why have you come Jesus, Son of the Most High! I beg you! Do not torment me!” I cried, groping at the rocks on the shore.

Jesus looked at me, “Come out of him.”

I screamed.

“What is your name,” Jesus held me with his gaze.

My name, what way my name? The voices answered, “Legion, for we are many. Please! Do not send us into the pit! Send us instead into the herd of swine!”

“Very well.”

Pain! Pain tore through me, but it was a good pain, the pain of pulling a thorn from your flesh. Before a minute had gone by, it was over. I heard pigs squealing in the distance, but that didn’t matter, only the man before me mattered. My mind was clear, the voices were gone. No longer would they torment me. Love. Pure, honest, love filled my senses, replacing the agony that had consumed me for so long. A new voice, soft and gentle whispered through my heart, “You’re sins are forgiven my beloved. Be made clean.” Tears fell down my cheeks as the past melted away behind me. I was free, I was whole again, I was loved and I was forgiven.

“Oh my Lord, I will follow you forever.”

Jesus laid his hands on my shoulders, his gaze over flowing with kindness, “Go home, and tell your people of these great things the Lord as done for you, for He has shown you great compassion.”

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